


Finding

by Ladycat



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Found Families, Gen, Post-Chosen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:44:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The party isn’t going to be like that, of course. Willow’s not sure what’ll be like, since the coven changes theme and style every year, but she knows that if she goes it’ll be a lot of fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding

She gets invitations, of course. Halloween is quiet throughout the demon world, which means it’s the humans night to party and there are plenty to choose from. The Slayer girls are having a bonding session that include everything from practice mats to movie parties in the private rooms in the basement, where their chattering won’t put any adults teeth on edge. Said adults are having their own get-together, a costume party that includes a band and alcohol and a lot of notables in the demonic research field. Willow’s interested, a little, if only because a professor from Greece will be there and she’s been _dying_ to actually discuss his latest paper on transference—

But if she does that, she knows that Kennedy will be angry with her. Really angry, the way she has been, lately, in ways that Willow doesn’t have the patience for anymore.

She doesn’t really want to go hobnob with people who think she’s an adult, though, so when Kennedy flounces off in rage that’s full of sharp-angles and unbreakable edges, Willow just waves and says she might go to the coven. That’s the only real party that she’s interested in going to, actually. The invitation sits where it’d been magicked into her room, throwing off faintly green sparks whenever she looks at it, smelling of mulled cider and sticky candy. It feels homey, even if home never had anything at all related to Halloween in it besides her mother’s lectures and her father’s disapproval. It still _feels_ homey, though, like sitting in front of a fireplace after dancing with the leaves, wind with just the barest hint of snow in it tease at hair and clothes. Blankets and pillows all piled up into a squishy, downy heap, perfect for snuggling into and hearing ghost stories that have nothing to do with actual ghosts and ghoulies, but a human’s innate love of feeling blood pump through their system, nerves sparking with the need to _move_ , even while fascination keeps them rooted and still.

The party isn’t going to be like that, of course. Willow’s not sure what’ll be like, since the coven changes theme and style every year, but she knows that if she goes it’ll be a lot of fun.

The second hand of her clock is charmed to change color depending on what the second actually is. Willow sits and watches as the colors shift and bleed into each other, a kaleidescope of prisms that keep her calm to the point of being tranced. It’s restful and soothing and while she’s like this, she doesn’t have to think of all the various arms tugging her in directions she’s not sure she wants to go to, anymore.

It’d been so easy after they first left Sunnydale. There were so many hundred of things that needed to be done and done right _then_ that her brain had basically turned off. Not really, of course, since all those hundreds of decisions needed thought out, decent answers—but that was a different kind of thinking. And now that the major crises are taken care of, Willow can’t make the part of her that analyzes and over analyzes and tries to understand the little bits inside of herself as much as the outsides stop. Not even for a moment.

She’s too relaxed to start when someone knocks on her door, but she does sigh as she opens it. She’s not sure she really wants to see whomever is—Buffy. Willow blinks, smiling and returning the greeting, as an almost shy Buffy hands over a huge jug of cider and instructions on how to warm it with the little microwave Willow has in her room. A few minutes later, there’s another knock. Willow’s too busy with the cider and finding cups, but Buffy says she’ll get it and lets Xander into the room. He’s got boxes and boxes of donuts, all dressed up in Halloween-y colors, and a smile that’s as inwardly focused as Willow knows hers is, too.

But his hug is as warm and solid as ever, and Willow lets herself stay there for a very long time.

Long enough that Dawn arrives, carrying tapes of spooky music, followed by Giles, who sheepish produces a bottle of apple brandy.

Twenty minutes later, Willow’s room is full of quiet laughter and hushed renditions while people sip laced cider, munch on donuts, and think about ordering take-away. Dawn and Giles are discussing which are the best ghost stories to tell, while Buffy laughs at them, calling them old fuddy-duddy professors. Xander’s sitting so close to her that she can hear his heart thud comfortingly regularly and he doesn’t object when she rests her head on his shoulder. “Thanks,” she says.

“This was for us, too,” he says. There’s a quip there, or there wants to be, but his voice is low and warm and so sincere that she has to blink away tears.

“I know. That’s what makes it so perfect.” Glancing over at the invitation, Willow closes her eyes and concentrates. The paper is gone when she opens them, but the atmosphere that she’s wanted so much, of home and comfort, and woodsy fall has surrounded the room and all of Willow’s family inside of it.


End file.
